Collected short fiction, p.182
Collected Short Fiction, page 182
“Why, I think so. Purple was the color of the emperors. The Greens were the faction that revolted, set up the democratic Green Hall. The last emperor, Adam the Third, abdicated two hundred years ago—”
“But you don’t know why he abdicated.”
“No. No; the books didn’t say. I used to wonder.”
“Then I must tell you. It’s important. Then, you know, the despotic power of the emperors was supreme. They were vastly wealthy; they had private space fleets. And they ruled with an iron cruelty. Every man even suspected of being a Green was deported to Pluto.
“An ancestor of mine, Charles Anthar, was deported, because of a chance remark in favor of free speech, made to a man he thought a friend. The finest physicist in the system. He spent fourteen years in the terrible dungeons of the Black Planet.
“On Pluto he made a scientific discovery. The theory he worked out in his dungeon by pure mathematics. It took him nine years. Then his fellow prisoners smuggled materials to him to build the apparatus he had planned. It was very simple, but it took five years to find the parts.
“When it was finished, he destroyed the prison guard. Sitting in his cell, he forced Adam the Third to obey his orders. If Adam had refused, Charles Anthar could have wrecked the solar system.
“Since, that discovery has defended the peace of the Green Hall. It is so terrific that only one person at a time is permitted to know it. Only this much of it has ever been put in writing—an abbreviation.”
She showed him, tattooed on her white palm, the letters AKKA.
“And you are—in danger?” John Star whispered.
“I am. The Purples didn’t lose their wealth and influence, you see. And they’ve always wanted to restore the empire. But AKKA has always been safely kept by the descendants of Charles Anthar.
“My name is Aladoree Anthar. I had the secret from my father, six years ago, before he died.
“The Purples, of course, have known about it from the first. Endlessly they have plotted and schemed to get possession of it for themselves. With it, they’d be supreme forever. And I think Eric Ulnar has come to take it.”
“You must trust Eric!” protested John Star. “He’s a famous explorer! And the nephew of the commander of the legion.”
“I know. That’s why I think we’re betrayed.”
“Why, I don’t see——”
“Ulnar,” she said, “was the family name of the emperors. Eric Ulnar, I think, is the direct heir, the pretender to the throne. He must be. His scheming, plotting uncle was——”
“Adam Ulnar, scheming, plotting!” John Star was outraged. “You call the commander that?”
“I do! I think he used his wealth and influence to become commander, so he could find where I am hidden. He sent Eric here. That ship, last night, brought reenforcements, and a way to escape with me.”
“Impossible!” gasped John Star. “Vors, perhaps, and Kimplen. I’ve suspected them. But Eric——”
“I know it! Eric Ulnar slipped out of the fort last night. He was gone two hours. He went to communicate with his allies on the ship.”
“Eric Ulnar is a hero and an officer in the legion.”
“I would trust no man named Ulnar!” she flamed back.
“My name is Ulnar,” he coldly returned.
“Your name—Ulnar,” she whispered, shocked. “You’re kin——”
“I am. I owe my commission to the commander’s generosity.”
“Then I see,” she said bitterly, “why you are here!”
“You are mistaken about Eric,” he insisted.
“Just remember,” she whipped out furiously, “that you are a traitor to the Green Hall! That you are destroying liberty and happiness!”
With that she whirled and left him, breathless and disconcerted. Even though he had defended Eric, he had a little haunting doubt. The others, Vors and Kimplen, he mistrusted deeply. The proximity of the strange ship had alarmed him. And he was very sorry, just now, that he had lost the confidence of Aladoree Anthar. It would make it harder to protect her—and, besides, he liked her.
Eric Ulnar met him when he came back to the court, said, with a grim, sardonic smile:
“It appears, John, that Captain Otan was murdered during the night. We’ve just found his body in his room.”
IV.
“STRANGLED, apparently,” said Eric Ulnar, pointing to a purple band that circled the dead man’s neck. The body lay on his bunk, limbs rigid in agony, thin face contorted, eyes protruding, mouth set in an appalling grin of terror and pain.
John Star bent over it, found other strange marks, where the skin was dry, hardened into little greenish scales.
“Look at this,” he said. “Like the burn of some chemical. And that bruise—it wasn’t made by a human hand. A rope—perhaps——”
“So you’re turning detective?” cut in Eric Ulnar, with his thin, superior smile. “Your proclivity toward asking questions will get you into trouble yet, John. But what’s your theory?”
“Last night,” he began slowly, “I saw something rather—dreadful. I thought afterward it was just a nightmare, until now. A huge, purple eye. It must have been a foot long! And it was evil—horribly malignant!
“Something must have come into the court, sir. It looked in my window. And murdered him. Left these stains. And that mark about the throat—no human hand could have made that.”
“You aren’t losing your mind, are you, John?” There was a little sharp, angry edge to the amused scorn in Eric Ulnar’s voice. “Anyhow, it happened while the old guards were on duty. I’m going to hold them for questioning. You will arrest Kalam and Samdu and Habibula, and lock them in the old cell block under the north tower.”
“Arrest them? Don’t you think that’s rather extreme, sir, before they’ve had a chance to speak?”
“You are presuming on our kinship, John. Please remember that I am still your officer, and in sole authority here, since Captain Otan is dead.”
“Yes, sir.” He subdued his haunting doubt. Aladoree must be wrong!
“Here are the keys to the old prison.”
Each of the men John Star was ordered to arrest occupied a single room that opened upon the court. He tapped on the first door, and Jay Kalam opened it for him, the rather handsome, dark-haired man, whom he had seen on the tennis court with Aladoree Anthar.
He was in dressing gown and slippers. His gravely thoughtful face showed weariness; yet he smiled at John Star, courteously but silently invited him in, motioned him to a seat.
It was the room of a cultured man, quietly luxurious, reserved in taste.
Old-fashioned books. A few select pictures. A case of shining laboratory apparatus. An optophone, now filling the room with soft music, its stereoscopic vision panel aglow with the color and motion of a play.
Jay Kalam returned to his own chair, his attention back on the drama. John Star did not like to arrest such a man for murder, but he took his duty as a legionary very seriously. He must obey his officer.
“I’m sorry——” he began.
Jay Kalam stopped him with a little gesture. “Please wait. It will soon be done.”
Unable to refuse such a request, John Star sat quietly until the act was ended, and Jay Kalam turned to him with a smile on his grave, thoughtful face.
“Thank you for waiting. A new record, that came on the Scorpion. I could not resist the temptation to see it before I went to bed. But what do you wish?”
“I’m very sorry——” began John Star. He paused, stammered. And then, seeing that the thing had to be done, he went on swiftly: “Sorry, but I am ordered by Captain Ulnar to place you under arrest.”
Fine dark eyes met his in quick surprise; there was pain in them, as if they saw some dreaded thing.
“May I ask why?” The voice was low and courteous.
“Captain Otan was murdered last night.”
Jay Kalam stood up quickly, but did not lose his possession. “Murdered!” he said quietly after a time. “I see. So you are taking me to Ulnar?”
“To the cells. I am sorry.”
For an instant John Star thought the unarmed man was going to attack him; he stepped back, hand going to his proton gun. But Jay Kalam merely smiled a grim little smile, said quietly:
“I shall go with you. A moment, to pick up a few articles of clothing. The old dungeons are not famous for comfort.”
John Star nodded, kept his hand near the needle.
They crossed the court, descended the spiral stair to a hall cut through red volcanic rock. With his pocket light tube, John Star found the corroded metal door, tried it with the keys Eric Ulnar had given him, failed to open it.
“I can turn it,” offered his prisoner.
John Star gave him the key; he opened the door after a little effort, gravely returned the key, stepped through into dank darkness.
“I’m very sorry about all this,” apologized John Star. “An unpleasant place, I see. But my orders were——”
“Never mind that,” said Jay Kalam quickly. “But remember one thing, please”—his tone was urgent—“that you are a soldier of the legion.”
John Star locked the door, went after Hal Samdu.
To his astonishment, the man appeared in the dress uniform of a general of the legion, complete with every decoration ever awarded for heroism or distinction in service. White silk, gold braid, scarlet plume—his splendor was blinding.
“It came on the Scorpion,” Hal Samdu informed him. “Very good, don’t you think? Though the shoulders are not quite——”
“I’m surprised to see you in a general’s uniform.”
“Of course,” the man said seriously, “I don’t wear it in public—not yet. I had it made to be ready for promotion.”
“I regret it,” said John Star, “but I’ve been ordered to place you under arrest.”
“To arrest me?” The broad, red face showed ludicrous amazement. “What for?”
“Captain Otan has been killed.”
“The captain—dead?” He stared in blank incredulity that changed to slow anger. “You think I——”
His great fists knotted. John Star stepped aside, whipped out his proton gun.
“Stop! I’m just obeying orders.”
“Well——” The big hands opened and closed convulsively. He looked at the menacing needle, and John Star saw simple contempt of danger in his eyes. But he stopped.
“Well——” he repeated. “If it isn’t your fault—I’ll go.”
THE THIRD man, Giles Habibula, did not open the door when John Star knocked, but merely called out for him to enter. He was the grossly heavy, blue-nosed sentry of the day before, now sitting, comfortably unbuttoned, before a table covered with dishes and bottles.
“Ah, come in, lad, come in!” he wheezed again. “I was just eating a mortal taste of lunch before I go to bed. A blessed hard night we had, waiting for trouble in the cold!
“But draw up and have a bite with me. We got new supplies on the Scorpion. An agreeable change from these mortal synthetic rations! Baked ham, and preserved candied yams, and some ripe old Dutch cheese—but look it over for yourself.”
He nodded at the table, which, John Star thought, bore food enough for six hungry men.
“No, thank you. I’ve come——”
“If you won’t eat, you will surely drink! We’re mortal fortunate here in the matter of drink. A wine cellar left full, when the fort was abandoned in the old days. Aged precious well—the best wine, I dare say, in the system. A full cellar—when I found it. Ah——”
“I must tell you that I’ve orders to place you under arrest.”
“Arrest? Why, old Giles Habibula has done no mortal harm to anybody. Not here on Mars, anyhow.”
“Captain Otan has been murdered. You are to be questioned.”
“You aren’t jesting with poor old Giles Habibula?”
“Of course not!”
“Murdered!” He shook his head. “I told him he should drink with me. He lived a Spartan life. Ah, it must be terrible to be cut off so! But you don’t think I did it, lad?”
“Not I, surely. But I was ordered to lock you in the cells.”
“Those old dungeons are mortal cold and musty!”
“My orders.”
“I’ll go with you. Keep your hand away from that proton gun. Old Giles Habibula wouldn’t make trouble for anybody.”
“Come!”
“May I eat a bite first? And finish my wine?”
John Star somehow liked old Giles Habibula, for all his grossness. So he sat and watched until the dishes were clean and the three bottles empty—aided, even, in emptying the latter. And then they went together to the dungeons.
Aladoree Anthar met him as he returned to the court, her face shadowed with worry and alarm.
“John Ulnar,” she greeted, and winced at the name, “where are my three loyal men?”
“I have locked Samdu and Kalam and Habibula in the old prison.”
Her face was white with scorn. “Do you think they are murderers?
Eric Ulnar tells me that Captain Otan was murdered in his sleep.”
“No; I don’t think so,” he said slowly. “I don’t believe it.”
“Then why lock them up?” She choked with scornful anger.
“My superior ordered it.” He fought to put down his old doubt.
“Don’t you see what you have done? All my loyal guards are murdered or imprisoned. I’m at the mercy of Ulnar—he’s your murderer! AKKA is betrayed!”
“Eric Ulnar a murderer! You misjudge——”
“Come! I’ll show him to you, a murderer and a traitor. He has just slipped out again. He’s going back to the ship that landed last night—to his allies!”
“You’re mistaken. Completely!”
“Come!” she cried urgently. “Don’t be blind to him!”
She led him swiftly along ramps and parapets to the eastern flank of the old fortress, up to a tower platform.
“Look! The ship—where it came from, I don’t understand! And Eric Ulnar, your hero of the legion!” Age-worn precipices and red boulder fields fell away from the foot of the wall to the lurid plain. There, not a mile from them, lay the strange ship.
John Star had seen nothing like it. Colossal, overwhelmingly vast. Confusingly intricate; bewilderingly strange of design. All of a glistening, jet-black metal.
The familiar space craft of the system were all spindle-shaped, trimly tapering; all of them silvered mirrorlike to reduce heat radiation and absorption in space; all comparatively small, the largest liners not four hundred feet long.
This machine had a spidery confusion of projecting parts, beams, braced surfaces, vast, winglike vanes, massive, jointed metal levers about the central part, which was a huge globe. And it was incredibly gigantic; the metal skids on which it rested lay along the red desert for a full half mile; the sphere was a thousand feet thick.
“The ship!” whispered the girl. “And Eric Ulnar, the traitor!”
She pointed, and John Star saw the man’s tiny figure, scrambling down the slope, dwarfed to the merest insect in the shadow of that gigantic black machine.
“Now do you believe?”
“Something is wrong,” he admitted. “Something——I’m going after him. I can overtake him, make him tell me what’s going on. Even if he is my officer.”
He plunged recklessly down the stair from the old tower.
V.
THE BLACK mass of the strange flyer shadowed the eastern sky, the central globe looming like a metal moon fallen in the red desert; the black skids, lying for half a mile upon the debris of boulders they had crushed, were like great walls. Beneath it, Eric Ulnar was the merest atom, shrunken to utter insignificance.
Midway to the machine—almost under the tip of a black vane that covered an eighth of the sky—he still had not looked back. And John Star was within forty yards of him, breathing so hard he feared the man would hear. He gripped his proton gun, shouted:
“Halt! I want to talk to you!” Eric Ulnar stopped, looked back in astonishment. He made a slight movement as if to draw the weapon in his own belt, stopped his hand before John Star had fired.
“Come here!” John Star ordered, and waited, got his breath, while the other walked slowly back.
“Well, John,” he said, with his hard, insolent smile, “you are exceeding your duty again. I’m afraid you’re too zealous to make a successful soldier. My uncle will be sorry to hear of your failure.”
“Eric,” said John Star, in a quiet, cold tone—he was surprised a little at his own deadly calm—“I’m going to ask you some questions. If I don’t like the answers, I shall have to kill you.”
White fury mounted to Eric Ulnar’s weak, passionate face. “John, you’ll be court-martialed for this! Killed yourself!”
“Probably I shall. But first I’m going to ask you some questions. I want to know, to begin with, where this ship came from? And why you were slipping out here?”
“How should I know where it’s from? Nothing like it has ever been seen in the system before. And simple curiosity was enough to bring me out here. What can you say to that, John?”
The weakly handsome face mocked him with a hard smile.
“I’m afraid, Eric, that you are planning treason to the Green Hall,” said John Star quietly. “I think you understand why this flyer came, and why Captain Otan was killed. Unless you can convince me that I am wrong, I’m going to kill you, release the three men I locked up, and defend the girl. What have you to say?”
Eric Ulnar looked up at the great black vane overshadowing them, smiled again, insolently bold. “Well, John,” he said deliberately, “I am a traitor.”
“Eric! You admit it?” There was both pain and anger in John Star’s voice.
“Of course, John! I’ve never planned to be anything else—if you call it treason to take what is mine by right. I suppose you don’t know you have imperial blood in your veins, John—your education seems to have been neglected. But you have. We both have.
“I am Emperor of the Sun, John. In a very short time I shall be taking possession of my throne. As a prince of the blood, I had hoped that you would be worthy of a high place under me. But I doubt, John, that you will live to enjoy the rewards of the revolution. You are too independent.”
